


Wistful Wars

by BlackPlagued



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, Dialogue, Eventual Fluff, Heavy Angst, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackPlagued/pseuds/BlackPlagued
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interview with the Vampire era<br/>misunderstandings and unwilling to change<br/>Chapters Pending</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wistful Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Point of View: Lestat de Lioncourt

     It was wearisome… never ending turmoil at both our expense. The Intentions never mattered as much as the impressions they gave and it drew out the hours we shared into tedious and dreary quarrels.

     “Your ill-minded, Louis. You look for disdain that isn’t there and it poisons your insight.” I spat, already frustrated with his bitterness. I was perched atop my own lidded coffin, nothing in hand, no distractions from the immortal across from me.  
The night had hardly begun and the coldness Louis showed towards me was tinged with murky gloom. He sat languidly in an arm chair a book opened facedown in his lap, solemn green eyes looking into mine but clouded with recollections I knew I had no part in. His complete rejection of me was infuriating, maddening, heart breaking.  
    

     “You’ve taken more from me then you can give, Lestat.” He murmured finally, the green in his eyes now darkened yet as sharp as those words cutting me open, bleeding me dry. “I’d be a fool to expect empathy from you; to expect anything but the worst.”

     “I took you from your death, Louis!” I shouted earnestly, “Would you truly be happier dead!? Looking past this self induced misery you corner yourself into can’t you find at least a simplistic wonder worth living for in this dark gift? In me?” My hand involuntarily went up to my chest as I all but implored, against my heart.  
  

     “That wonder falls short from remorse.” His voice rose harshly, “I may have built up this image of monstrosity myself but I’ll be damned a second time if I’m wrong to say these enchantments aren’t worth what I have become!” He rose swiftly, mindless of the book that’d fallen from his lap, and gathered his coat and cape.

     “Louis.” I whispered desperately now, trying to bring him back to me; needing to tell him I’ve known these woes before and I understand this suffering and I could help him if he’d let me, “It’s not just you.”

     "I’m not making it about myself.” He glowered, infallibly misunderstanding me, “You mock me as you like for fearing for my soul and feasting on rats but know that all this discord between us comes from your own fault, from your own hands.” He left me after that, the shutting door leaving a distressing echo in my head.

     These were the dreadful nights of New Orleans.


	2. Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat is weary of the fights and confronts Louis.

     I sat, now composed, reading in the parlor after my dispute with Lestat. I’d left and put to death a couple alley cats baying under the moon, looking for each other, but the knot of hunger persisted in me. I sensed him somewhere in the dwelling. He rustled amongst things lightly, letting me alone. I heard soft footsteps as her strode around a room; the din started to become mildly hypnotic.

     After reading the same line enough times, I closed my book and set it on the armrest. The force of Lestat’s scornful language came back to me like a manifested pressure on my skull. I sunk lethargically into the chair and closed my eyes, hand at my temple, trying to massage my weary mind. It was then that I realized all movement beyond the parlor had ceased.

     Not wanting to face the demon again, I walked towards my bedroom quietly, intending to shut the door and stay in there as long as mother moon could let me. I reached the entrance, and to my surprise, Lestat was sitting at the edge of my bed with his elbows propped on his knee, his head in his hand. He didn't raise he head to look at me.

     “Why have you come in here?” I asked steadily, though realizing angrily that he’d been all about _my_ room handling _my_ things.

     “I’m tired, Louis.” He said solemnly, simply. I was ready to tell him he had his own bed to rest in and other witty though humorless things, but he continued, “I’m sick of you shutting me out.”

     I said nothing then. I turned to my desk instead, observing casually for moved or missing things, but nothing seemed out of place.

     “Louis, you realize your defiance makes our eternity more sufferable don’t you?” he asked, standing up from the bed and coming near me.

     “Well I say eternity isn’t ours. We couldn’t withstand each other that long” I replied, still facing my desk.

     “But Louis, you haven’t tried! How many times must I tell you that?” He sighed against my ear, now behind me. “You grow repulsed by yourself and refuse to seek enjoyment or even simple satisfaction.” He placed a hand softly on my shoulder and urged me to turn to him.

     I finally complied and was surprised when I saw that his fiery grey eyes were now burning with genuine injury. His mouth slightly frowned and his eyebrows were furrowed from the damage of my words. A true vision of anguish.

     “Lestat, I can’t learn to accept my transgression,” I said, a little softer, “I can’t bear what you’ve done to me. I won’t torture you with this grudge I hold, but know it’s there.” 

     He nodded sadly, looking past me at the wall, reflecting on thoughts. Then his gaze caught mine and to my surprise, red pricks welled up in the corner of his eyes. He bent his head to my chest and I let him, his blonde mane grazing my neck and chin. How feeble and frail he seemed now, compared to the rampant fiend he can be. I put a hand gently to his head, not wanting to comfort the culprit of my destruction, but felt an obligation to.

     “I don’t expect you to love me, but don’t leave me, Louis.” He pleaded, his grip on me tightening slightly, “I couldn’t bear not doing what I did. I was dying, in its most awful sense, before I found you, and I selfishly took your will to live so I could keep my own.”

     A heavy sadness bore down on me when he said this, for it could only be the truth. We were both fighting for our lives, and he’d confided to me now that I hold his in the palm of my hand.

     “Lestat,” I said his name, meaning to tell him his request was unfeasible, but instead I lifted my other arm to embrace him, and he somewhat relaxed against me. I brought my hand to his cheek and lifted his face, observing the beautiful crimson streaks that trailed from his large, miserable eyes.

     I kissed his cheek softly, tasting the sweetness of those tears and ran my tongue delicately along them.


	3. Lestat

     I found myself sighing against him as he licked away my bleeding tears, his cool tongue softly lapping at my sorrow. Oh, if only we could truly feed each other pleasure with our melancholy. We’d thrive.

     “Louis… I’m sorry.” I softly whispered as he began on the other side of my face, a slight shiver escaping him at times, “Stay with me. Keep your patience and I’ll keep my temper. I promise I’ll try harder to keep your afflictions in mind.”

     He looked at me miserably with his vivid green eyes, slightly disoriented from the small fill he had from me. His expression, his whole posture, revealed his desire for more, but he gently pushed me away. I gazed at him, crestfallen.

     “But your words mean so little at times.” Louis murmured bleakly, “You’ve lied to me before.”

     “That’s cruel, Louis.” I snarled angrily now. His accusation stung and infuriated me, “You cry that I have no empathy or understanding of you, yet you conclude this pain I reveal to you, the rawness of my being, to be lies!?”

     “No,” He said as softly as before though tinged with bitterness, “Only that you’re deceptive and illusive even to yourself. You couldn’t hold your anger just now or anytime soon. You mean well this time, but the fact is, you cannot keep promises.”

     I bit back the second fount of humiliated rage. I sourly walked back to his bed and sat, arms crossed. I glared at him. How dare he take into him my imploring tears and then leave me in a state where more threaten to flow!

     “You can’t leave me, Louis…” I said, becoming the brokenhearted boy again, “I will sink into the earth again. I will let the worms writhe about me, and I won’t care. Is that what you want from me? To dig my own grave and lie there undead?” Louis’ composure wavered when he heard this. A flicker of curious astonishment crossed his face at the fact that I had done it before.

     “Lestat, you’ve never verbalized these things with me!” He shot back, “How should I know what you’ve had to endure to keep yourself above a dirt pit when you refuse to speak of your past?”

     “Because there’s only pain to be recollected! Pain! So much pain!” I cried to him with as much anger as despair. I went up to him again, a foot from his face, “You want to know? I’ve _had_ companions. I’ve turned people before I ever knew you! She left me for the wilderness, my first! And the other, my dearest mortal friend, grew to hate me because I hadn’t turned him sooner!” My voice wanted to waver, “And now you reject any aspect of me! I’m ready to die, Louis. My fledglings want nothing from me, _of_ me. Your humanity was all I had left and I cherished your compassion for life, believe it or not, but to feed off filthy street animals? You found more enjoyment in licking the tears from my face!”

      He blushed, angry and embarrassed. Still he said nothing.

     “Louis, what you seek to know isn’t important and I don’t say that to spite you. I’m trying to ease you of your treachery. Don’t fear this vice. You _need_ nourishing blood. If you’d just act upon what I tell you instead of dismiss it as my usual brand of egotistical evil, you would shed years of pointless pain from your life.”


	4. Louis

     He’d always been exceptional in charming with words, but it was still the same tune he eternally went about singing to me. The one that makes me want to cover my ears against its harsh pitch.

     “You know I cannot.” I groaned lowly, with obvious frustration. I shamefully ached for more blood, it consumed me, and I loathed myself for not having any power in this. I was seconds away from bounding off and leaving him, to put out of mind the brilliance of his taste. Find a rat, a chicken, a stray hound, anything, but again he came to me and this time was the one to bring a cold, pallid hand up to my face.

     “Louis” He whispered, leaning into my ear. His cool mouth rested against the flesh of my jaw, and then the tip of his fangs gently scratched down to my throat. I knew that I would have allowed him to feed off me right then, but he pulled away suddenly. Still I did not react. He brought his other hand to my face and kissed me softly; then he urged my mouth to his neck.

     “Take it from me then.” He sighed gently, “Let me tend to you.” My lips hovered above the thick vein of his neck for a moment and with a defeated whimper I drove my fangs into him and let the sweetness fill my mouth. I moaned immediately and a soft noise escaped Lestat. He tensed against me, but his hands loosely slid down to cradle my shoulders and then my chest. I covetously swallowed the spurts of blood as waves of desire crested in me.

     “Yes, Louis,” He breathed sensually and his hands slowly lowered down my torso. I warily felt them slip down lower and lower then gasped against his throat when I felt the palm of his hand gently pressed against the front of my pants, cupping my crotch. I tried to say his name; to indignantly ask him what he meant to do. To say this was for him all along wasn’t it, but I was bound to this beauteous flow of red. He brought his hand into my pants, around my organ, and simultaneously pierced my neck with his fangs.He moaned aloud and arched against me, his own erect cock grazing my thigh through the fabric. Mon Dieu, how delicious it felt, but I wanted no part in it. He stroked me gently, almost a caress, and when this pleasure began to peak I finally broke away from his neck, resting my head against his shoulder.

     “Lestat, Please don’t.” I groaned against the hollow of his throat. I had begun to shudder deeply and grew weak as he took back the blood he’d given. He slid his fangs out of me, and forced me on my back against the wall. He undid his shirt then mine and brought his mouth to my chest. His tongue rimmed my nipple slowly, and then he began to lap at the pink nub. A shock of pleasure shot through me. Though he hastily removed my pants, his tongue unhurriedly found other places to moisten as it trailed down my body. Lust burned in my groin as he brought a hand to my cock again and worked the shaft. I brought my own hands to his torso, feebly attempting to push him away and feel the contour of his body at the same time, admiring the soft blonde tuft of hair between his beautiful pale thighs. Finally, I began manipulating his erection as well.


	5. Lestat

It had not been my intention to have him until I found my hand around his swelling cock, but again, the impression will always prevail. It was supposedly beyond me, this action. Something I told myself I would never do, but I'd never learned what self control was, and in a moment of ecstasy, I had Louis pinned to the wall and nearly drained. His clothes having vanished somewhere, leaving the vulnerability of his nakedness to me. There was regret then in the back of my perverse mind as he pleaded, even as I returned my hand to his erection. Then he began to respond in the same way and I knew I would not stop.

I caught his mouth in passionate kisses as we slid down the wall onto the floor, Louis beneath me, his hair spread out in messy, enticing waves. I cradled his head, bringing him up to my neck again, and he latched on quickly, his hands rising to grasp at my shoulders and back as the ecstasy took him. Blood sweat began to trickle down our bodies as moans rose out of me. The pull on my veins was painful orgasmic. I pulled him from me and brought my mouth to his, letting my tongue slip inside, tasting the sweetness of my blood.

“Lestat.” He moaned against me, not pleadingly but with a burning lust I could only wish for before. He began to thrust against me gently, his cock irresistibly gliding against my inner thigh. I moved down his torso leaving swift kisses on his neck, chest and below his navel, until I reached the hard length of his cock and took it into my mouth, sucking gently. He shivered, bringing a hand to my head, into my hair. His overwhelming eyes watched me yearningly, as I removed myself from his member and moved down lower. I lapped at his tight opening, feeling him contract and shudder against me, his moans rising and falling. I slipped a finger in him hastily, and he cried out, gripping my shoulders tightly. More tenderly, I massaged him, adding one finger then two. His face burned with a sensual blush, and soon he gently began to rock against me.

“My Louis.” I breathe to him, then brought my cock in place and slid into him. A soft moan left us both and I slowly pushed in and out of him. His looked at me almost hungrily as his pants grew harsher and I could feel the succulent tightening against my organ. I grew impatient again, enflamed in lust, and thrust against him more roughly, bringing a hand to his erection working the shaft. He cried out my name. He cried out to God. His grip was tightening still. Finally, I drove my teeth again into his pale throat and in a series of shivers, shakes, and cries, Louis came. I right after. We lay together a moment, catching out breath, our bodies recovering. I pulled out of him, a small noise escaping Louis, and embraced him softly, a deep well of love overtaking me, but his face was turned from me now, his eyes closed.

"Louis?" I asked softly, unsure. Then he did turn to me and I found a painfully angry and hurt expression on his face. A wretched red rimmed his eyes. I breathed his name again, the question hardly audible.

"Was that the price of your blood, Lestat!" Louis spat to me now, a quivering sneer on his face. Then the tears did fall, but he made no move to wipe them away.

"Louis..." I whispered yet again, stuck in a terrible loop.


	6. Louis

“Don’t say it again. If you do, I will go mad.” I cried furiously between clenched teeth, needing the fool to quit speaking my name. The fool. Fiend. Demon. My anger had no vocabulary. He was all that and worse. I found the urgent need to get up, get dressed, but Lestat was still on top of me; stunned as if I’d struck him, “You sicken me. Your cruelness sickens me.”

“Cruelness?!” It came out a hoarse whisper, his eyes painfully, stupidly confused, “I love you, Louis.”

“Enough to manipulate me into believing you were to help me? Enough to find it in yourself to ignore my pathetic pleas and defile me!?” He cringed at that. I brought my hand up to my face, wiping away the red streaks, loathing that they were there. I felt utterly betrayed. I felt ridiculous for expecting anything good come from this damned cretin, "Then you have the nerve to tell me of such love!" 

“I didn’t deceive you, Louis!” He spoke above a murmur, a bit loudly in fact though in a low aching voice, “I did not lure you into that feed for your flesh. And hadn't it been something we both took pleasure in? You had enjoyed it as well!"

 “Of course I did! How could I not when everything else in my existence is so acutely insufferable?! But I foolishly believed I could trust you!  You used me… The ache in your eyes show something deeper, Lestat, something besides, but how am I to interpret that into your supposed love for me now? Tell me it wasn’t lust on a whim when you couldn’t even succeed in making it to the damned _bed.”_ My tone was bitter as my shoulders shook with miserable laughter, my back still on the hard floor, “You insatiable, perverse wretch!”

“I’m sorry.” He moaned sorrowfully, his face contorted into misery.  But I had no concern for his tears anymore. I pushed him from me and finally rose to my feet. He didn’t make a move to get up himself. Instead he kept his eyes down casted at the empty floor beside him. Half his face was veiled by tendrils of his brilliant blonde hair. He brought a hand up to his stained cheek, covering the rest in some sort of gesture that seemed would conceal his shame as well. “Louis, I hadn’t meant to. I wanted to aid you, I truly did. I’m monstrous, I know. I… I didn’t think I would-”

“Stop.” I said, as I began regaining my composure and dressed myself. I disliked it as he pled to me. I detested so much about this moment, " You can bear me your feelings now, but for so long, all I had asked of you were simple questions, that you responded with defense and no real answer at all. You were always apt to disregard what I inquired with overplayed power you supposedly reaped in your years, but now I know that it was all a façade to hide from me the feeble and grieved creature that you dare show me now. And for what? To keep me to you still, when you yourself wounded me in the most delicate of situations? It doesn't matter that I enjoyed it, I begged you to stop!" I stalled a moment, my angry distress sparking again, making my tone harsher than intended. I calmed, then quietly added, "You must not understand how terrible it is for me. My afflictions evade you still..."

"Louis, you don't understand what you say." He whispered to me fervently, He came to me then, still naked, but it did not bother me. He reached a hand out to touch me, and I was too defeated with my own ever present melancholy to care if he did, but the recent memory of the last time I had been so yielding to his touch made me back away from him regardless. I briskly made my way out the door and left him again, even as I saw how terribly my reaction had bruised him.


	7. Lestat: reflections

Again the slamming door.

Again alone.

I silently sunk into Louis bed. A beautiful decorum of burgundy reds and golden browns patterned the covers, but I only thought on this now to prolong the fount of sobs that were already trying to hitch in my throat. The thick blanket was neatly made, never used, the down pillows fluffed and forming a white snowy mound around my hair, my head heavy with ache and exhaustion. Yes an extravagant bed. Making love would have be a thousand times more beautiful in this bed. Inevitably, I turned around, gripped the pillow against me and cried into it's inviting softness. But it was better this way, than against Louis' firm but comforting chest again. His pity for me had run dry, I was sure, and any coldness would only damage me further.

But didn't I deserve this? Shouldn't I have _expected_ this? I was wrong. No matter how many times I attempted to twist and turn the perspective of this scenario, I was undoubtedly wrong. It was the closest I ever had Louis to me, and I mean soul wise. I could have eased some of his misery. Even if only for a while, we could have been on more stable and peaceful grounds. In time, he could have grown to love me back.

But I stole the pleasure in his feed. I inconsiderately made it about what I desired again, and it tortured Louis with angry disbelief as much as it pained me with self focused repulsion and remorse. All my children. All my fledglings, turned away from me. I couldn't stop the ones before, there was nothing in my power to keep them to me no matter the love I adorned on them. But this time it turned dark, unethical, and harrowed. It was utterly my own fault, same as other calamities that have befallen me before, and I could only expect worse in the future because I am too damn impulsive! I all but bled my heart dry for Louis in an awful attempt to secure him to me, but here I was, bare of clothes, generously crying into the tainted, stained pillow like a shattered lover, when in reality the devotion and care was never mutual, or even realized.

That act of intimacy was not love. Love is patient, kind, and everything I wanted to give to Louis, but never found it easy in showing. When a cruel but love stricken heart finds one to beat for, it makes actions twice as dizzying to think on. And so often I find that I don't. I let the stronger of the two decide, and my mind turns out the victor less and less as my heart lurches me forward into my own consequence. That is the fate of any hopeless romantic.

I wiped the last of my tears against the soiled pillow and pushed it away from me, off the bed. The smell of it gave me a ambrosial streak of pleasure I didn't want or deserve. I felt I should dress myself, maybe go out and look for him, or at least wait for him in a mannerly fashion to discuss with him anything he wished, no secrets, no lies. But a grave, fearful pit in my heart told me he would not return. He would leave me after all. Find someone better, and more compatible to what he needed, what he desired, what he never found in me. I would die after all from the inward collapse of my own need. Instead I pulled the blanket atop me and brought another pillow beneath my head, and I had lain there in silence until a sleep I prayed was endless, took hold.


	8. Louis: Reflections

I eventually found myself perched atop the high roof of a darkened building, my arms folded across my chest loosely, but in a sure grip that by some means grounded me and kept me from ascending beyond the dark, internal heights of reverie. There was nothing particularly special about this location at all, I was simply at a loss of action, for where could I go? Whom to?

My relatives were long dead. Away in some unknown realm of the afterlife, if not with the Savior I hold on to with desperation. The One whom received not only my vows but the wholesome utterly dedicated adulation of my brother, let alone thousands of other fervent followers. The disturbed scheme of everything that has come to pass despite that devotion left a jaded bitterness in me, and a tenderly confused uncertainty. Still I could never curse Him, or deny His existence as Lestat would with flamboyant, ghastly proclamations. I could only believe He fondly held each of my kindred in his metaphorical arms, against his loving chest and kept them joyful in His splendid light. Even if it was something I would never behold myself.

I would have left to visit their graves, to indulge in recollections, if I hadn’t already known it would sear the core of grievance in my heart. No, it was simply not an option; I would find no solace there. As well, there was an actual relieving yet oddly anxious comfort in occupying a place that held no distinct memories in me. It prevented disruption from my contemplation; and gazing above at the incandescent sickle moon, the lazy breeze caressing my face and catching wisps of my hair, kept my thoughts clear and alert.

The terrible truth of the matter was that the jagged rage and sharp, callous words I’d conveyed to Lestat had already begun to mean so little to me. They were becoming less and less important as I dwelled helplessly instead on the heartache of situation, but isn’t a lot of anger initially derived from heartache? Wouldn’t only something positively dear and close to our hearts draw out this viciousness whether in sorrow, passion, or even pride? Otherwise it is left to insignificance, and realizing this, I knew those harsh things I’d said to Lestat had been out of spite. I wasn’t as much enraged as pained. He _had_ evoked my sorrow, stirred my passion, wounded my pride; I could only react in anger.

Still, I knew that if I were to go back to him, I would respond in the very same way again. There were _litanies_ of scorching disdain that would spark within me the moment I would behold him and I merely didn’t have the stamina or vitality to clash with him once more. He wasn’t the all-encompassing demon I swore him to be. At the last of moments, he had shed more of his hardened, concealing exterior than in all the time I was forced besides him as his fledgling. I’d left him in a desperate, needful, and muddled state that was entirely new and strangely dreadful to me, and it compelled me to believe his imploring words were genuine, and it hurt him as much as his eyes had shown, however, I believed the distance from him was really what kept these things to mind so firmly.  

Mere hours had passed. I sighed audibly, a gesture that imposed my hesitation, but began my descent from the building, down into the streets. I had bounded up there in a quick and irrational display of escape, but now walked the near empty streets with a steady stride in the direction of our home; still unsure of what exactly I meant to do.


	9. Louis (cont.)

As I approached the dwelling I did not sense him, and only then did the thought occur to me that he might have set off after me into the night to draw me back. Well don’t worry, Monsieur, I know my way home and I’ve come willingly. But when I made my way in, the door left unlocked, I found that I did feel his presence there though the whole house was quiet and still. I was unsure how to proceed. Coming this way, I had expected Lestat to be the one to initiate something of the aftermath, whether it be an argument, more beseeching words, or another altogether spontaneous direction I knew him to be capable of. I had not expected a jarringly silent entrance, and I wondered even then if I should’ve been on guard against the suspicious peace.

As I took slow steps forward I became conscious of the fact that I did not really wish to see him. I was growing anxious and began to regret returning.  Perhaps it was mutual, and Lestat kept from me now simply because he was just as weary of me. I couldn’t say. I didn’t understand him, he would not let me.  I decided I would slip into my room and take with me my coffin. I would not stay the day, nor the day after. However, the length of my departure might not even be determined by my own agenda. I was sure Lestat could find me if he wanted to. I was not ignorant of his ‘vampiric supremacy’.

I made my way to my room, expecting to take action quickly and quietly then take off and hide at my run down plantation as long as I would, or as long as he’d let me. His controlling nature exhausted me. But a peculiar sense of déjà vu took hold of me, the same surprise of finding Lestat again in my room, on my bed. He was resting, though it was not the death sleep. I stood at the entrance a moment, watching him from a distance, and then took careful steps forward until I was at the foot of the bed.

Ah, sadly it would be a lie to tell you I felt any real emotion gazing down at the sleeping immortal. I’d like to say there was anger but there simply wasn’t. I felt no love either. In truth I felt nothing but the dim sadness that already tinted everything. I felt only vague sympathy for him. I felt just as empty as before. I might as well have never come…

I walked around the bed frame to look at the profile of Lestat’s face. It was tranquil and utterly smooth and eerily statuesque. I wanted to run my hand against his cheek and liberally feel the skin of his eyelids and lips. I looked to the darkly blotted, saturated pillow at my feet then again to my makers form. He was sheathed in the warm and inviting cloth, only his bare shoulders exposed as his hand gripped and tucked the blanket’s edge tightly against him, almost protectively.   

I finally left his side and in one silent motion lifted the coffin on the floor, tucking it beneath my arm as best I could. My eyebrows furrowed with dull grief as I looked to Lestat once more. The reality of it was that I would likely come back to him without much of a fight. With a heavy heart I realized my anger had turned to insignificance, and before I left, as a sudden afterthought, I went to the window of my room and pulled shut the thick curtains. Only a candle lit up the room now, it's erratic flicker giving a mild disturbance to the room's atmosphere, but I didn’t bother with it as I left.


End file.
